Going, Going, Gone!
by Pharaohess
Summary: PreTPM: Jedi are going missing. When QuiGon becomes the latest to vanish, ObiWan is teamed up with Kit Fisto and Siri Tachi to get to the bottom of it: but what they uncover is more than they bargained for...an auction for Jedi slaves. T to be safe. NO LONGER ON HIATUS! New updates.
1. Chapter 1

[[Feb 2013 – This is getting finished. I found it again, and I'm going to finish it. For anyone who's still interested after all these years; thank you.]]

So yes, this is my new story, for those who already know of my writing. I hope it's decent, as my first stories always seem to be better (to me at least). Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: Not in this galaxy. Perhaps in one far, far away...

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The pirates had come out of nowhere.

Blue lightsaber blade deflecting the oncoming blaster bolts, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Senior Padawan of the Jedi Order, moved back to better protect Illaryn. Next to him, his Master, Qui-Gon Jinn, sent two of the pirates sprawling with a well-timed Force push.

It had been a routine mission – witness protection. Dustin Illaryn was going to testify against a criminal arms-dealing ring; located in the Expansion Region – such was the name of the region between the Inner and Mid Rims. The gang had been slowly gaining power within the underworld circles of many of the planets, causing trouble and making many of the planets plead to the Senate, who started an investigation. The Jedi Order also put two Knights on the search, who had helped the initial investigation. The ringleaders had been found, as had many witnesses to provide damning evidence – the leaders were on their way to prison, that was certain, and the ring crumbling; the members disorganised and revealed.

Illaryn was a governor of Sermeria, and when it came to his attention that there was an increase in attacks and violence, he had devoted himself to finding the cause of it. An intelligent and quiet man, much of Illaryn's information had been vital to helping uncover the ring.

That had all been months ago, and the trial had finally come around. The collected witnesses, of which there were said to be many, had all made their way to the Core to testify and put this at an end. Illaryn was here for that exact reason – to be present, and speak, at the trial in the Courts.

But days before he left, he began to get death-threats, warning him that he may not get to the Courts at all and to watch his step in Galactic City. Worried, Illaryn had contacted the Jedi Order, requesting an escort to the Courts for protection. Being paranoid about the current situation he was in, he had landed planet-side on a commercial shuttle that docked at one of the smaller ports; and as a result he was a few hours from the centre of Galactic City where he needed to be. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had been asked to meet with him and get him to the Courts.

Simple enough. 

The two Jedi had met Illaryn as he stepped off his shuttle: he had been very grateful for their assistance, and spoke of how relieved he would be when the trial was over and the criminal ring shattered. On the way back to their speeder (borrowed from the Temple's hangar), both Jedi had felt a warning from the Force, and had watched helplessly as the speeder partially exploded. Lightsabers ignited, the Jedi cautiously advanced: Obi-Wan had taken a quick look at the smouldering wreck as Qui-Gon looked around, fully alert for danger.

He had come to the conclusion that the bombs had been handmade and hastily wired in; obviously not meant to be subtle. Nor had they meant to kill – they did not explode in themselves, but instead used a chemical reaction in the wiring. It was to incapacitate the speeder, not kill or harm them.

In short, it was the work of pirates, or gangs, or mercenaries – those who had the knowledge, but not necessarily the materials to do such a thing.

And sure enough, a few moments later, a group of that description had appeared on the platform. The speeder had been parked on a bridge-like platform, which served as an access route to the spaceport. It had low barriers along either side, and was a fair way off the ground – not an ideal fighting terrain at all. There was no cover to hide behind, nor could it provide any kind of advantage to the Jedi.

Obi-Wan deflected another shot, this time into the leg of one of the oncoming pirates. The being screamed and fell, no longer a threat.

He didn't feel right. Something wasn't right here. It was almost as if the pirates _weren't_ trying to kill them – they were all fighting cautiously yet aggressively, not all-out hostile. They could have killed them, overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, but some members held back, watching, weapons at the ready.

It was now the young Jedi realised that he had been drawn away from Illaryn. Obi-Wan knew the tactic. Distract the guardians and kill the guarded sentient. He spun, to get back to Illaryn, only to see that none of the pirates had gone after him. Illaryn was shooting with a blaster picked up off a pirate body, crouched by the partially burnt-out speeder, but the pirates were ignoring him, for the main part – concentrating on overwhelming the Jedi…

Amidst the fighting, the leader of the pirates watched the Jedi holding their own, from a vantage point outsider the fight. Obi-Wan was closer to him than Qui-Gon was, and caught some of the leader's words as he fought defensively.

"We getting both, Boss?" Asked his rat-like companion.

The leader, a Trandoshan, scowled. "If we can. We get more credits that way, idiot. But still, either should bring in a good amount. True, they ain't exotic races or anything, just filthy humans – but still, Jedi. And that's all that matters."

Obi-Wan hesitated momentarily as it all clicked into place. Hurriedly deflecting a blaster bolt that almost got past his blade, and spinning to engage a pirate with a vibrosword, Obi-Wan realised what was going on.

'_Master! They're not here for Illaryn – they're here for us!'_

Qui-Gon was silent for a moment, concentrating on his own fight – dealing with two pirates, both with blades and trying to dodge oncoming shots . _'How do you know, Padawan?'_

Gritting his teeth as the lightsaber and vibrosword blades locked, Obi-Wan replied hurriedly so he could return his focus to the pirates who wanted his life. 'The leader – he mentioned something about credits and bringing in Jedi. They haven't gone for Illaryn at all, even though he's the one supposedly getting death threats.'

The pirates – no, the bounty hunters – were getting nowhere in this fight, and they knew it. The Jedi – even though there was only two – were holding their own well, and some pirates lay wounded, others dead.

"Boss, this isn't working! They ain't tiring! What we do now?" called one, a Rodian, who was outside the central fights.

The bounty hunter leader shrugged nonchalantly. "Anything but kill them. No reward for dead Jedi, only living."

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan shot a quick look to each other. Both had heard that.

The Rodian bounty hunter unclipped a concussion grenade from his belt. He held it lightly for a moment, picking out his target – the older one or the younger? – and threw it: straight at Qui-Gon.

It exploded on contact, hitting the ground near Qui-Gon's fight. Even Jedi couldn't defend against everything, and the Master, having many things to focus on at once, couldn't prepare for it. As the other hunters around him fell, unconscious, Qui-Gon struggled to keep himself awake. He heard Obi-Wan call out, still fighting, and looked up in time to see the pirate grenadier throw another grenade in Obi-Wan's direction.

This time, it wasn't a concussion grenade, but a fragment grenade: one which produced an explosive blast and sharp shrapnel, not a knockout gas. The grenadier was good at his job, and so, knowing this grenade would probably kill the Jedi if thrown _at_ him, he threw it nearby, to knock the Jedi off balance.

It worked a little too well.

Obi-Wan felt the shockwave move though the access-way and knock him back. Something hit the back of his knees – his eyes found Qui-Gon's, across the way – and before he knew it, he was falling – away from the fight, away from his Master – had he really been that close to the edge of the platform without realizing? How had he managed that? This wasn't good.

He tried to reach out to the Force as he heard laughter from the bounty hunters above him.

The ground was coming up quickly to meet him.

Obi-Wan wondered, just before impact, if he would survive the fall.

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Qui-Gon, still clutching to consciousness, saw the grenade explode, near to Obi-Wan but not near enough to cause direct injury. He watched as the bounty hunters were thrown to the ground from the blast, and his heart jumped as he saw Obi-Wan thrown back – and over the edge of the causeway. It happened in the flicker of an eye.

The pirates were laughing; lifting their wounded from the ground, as a few looked over the edge where Obi-Wan had fallen.

"Well?" growled the Trandoshan leader.

"Sorry, Boss – we only gonna get the one bounty. He's dead." The Rodian grenadier grinned sheepishly. "He can't have survived that fall."

The Trandoshan grunted, cuffing the Rodian around the back of the head. "Kriffing idiot! I said not to kill them." His gaze landed on Qui-Gon. "At least we still have this one."

The concussion grenade was overpowering the Jedi Master – his focus was slipping, he was about to pass out, his thoughts were disorganised and mixed. Obi-Wan…dead? No, no…he couldn't be…their bond was hazy and indistinct…Qui-Gon couldn't feel his apprentice's presence…he wasn't there…but he couldn't be…_dead_…he had seen him fall…he knew it was a long way down…_Force, no_…

His despair gave way to darkness as he passed out, succumbing to the chemicals from the grenade.

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Illaryn was still crouched by the speeder as everything unfolded. The pirates, or rouges or whatever didn't seem to care about him at all, as they picked up the now unconscious Qui-Gon and carried him unceremoniously away. Illaryn, petrified, watched them go. It was obvious from what had happened they weren't interested in him. He hesitated as they neared the end of the access-way, before standing and running quietly behind the mismatched group, following.

He didn't want to, but felt he had some kind of responsibility – after all, they were out here because of him. And besides, he had to contact the Jedi Order and having some kind of lead would make him feel less guilty.

Keeping to the shadows, Illaryn followed the group to their ship, which had been set down on a lower landing pad only a few hundred meters away. He watched the Jedi Master be loaded into it, disappearing through the doorway at the top of the landing ramp. There was nothing more he could do, so instead he began to take in every detail he could about the craft.

It was old, worn and held the scars of many battles. Illaryn couldn't even begin to think what sort of model it was – a freighter? It was armed, whatever it was; two laser gun turrets adorned the wings. And on the wings themselves, was a symbol.

It appeared to be a sphere, possibly representational of a planet. There were two much smaller spheres off to the side – orbiting moons? Presuming that the main sphere _was_ a planet, of course. A horizontal rectangular grid stretched behind them, and on the main 'planet' there was a stylised 'S'. Beneath the logo, almost hidden beneath the grime, was a slogan of some kind: _NOWHERE TO HIDE._

Illaryn stared at it, committing it to memory, although he had no idea what in the name of the Gods it could possibly mean.

By now, the ship was beginning to make noise – Illaryn could only watch as it took off, leaving him behind at the edge of the landing pad. Still looking up to the sky and the fast vanishing ship, his hand dropped to his belt and pick out his comlink. Calling the central line, he found his way through the various frequencies to the Jedi Temple.

Asking to be put through to the Council, or someone in authority to report a mission gone awry, Illaryn waited impatiently for the transmission to connect. He felt immediately relieved (and slightly nervous) as he was put in contact with one of the most formidable and famous Jedi Masters, but the one who could ultimately help him the most.

"This is Jedi Master Mace Windu."

"Master Windu – my name is Dustin Illaryn, I'm here as a witness for the Steel Armaments trial?"

"Yes, the Governor," came the Master's soft yet authoritative reply. "You requested a Jedi escort to the Courts. What's happened?"

Illaryn hesitated. "We were attacked, by pirates or something. Master Jinn has been caught – and I think Apprentice Kenobi may be dead. He…fell from a great height."

There was silence over the comlink. Illaryn was about to speak, when the Jedi beat him to it. "Where are you, Governor Illaryn?"

"The Bindai District. Near the spaceport."

"A Jedi is coming to meet you. Return to the space port and wait there."

Illaryn thanked him and sighed as the transmission closed.

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So, right into the action. One Jedi caught and the other is dead. Or is he? (Anyone who has read anything of mine will know the answer to that). Hope this was interesting - updates will be soon!


	2. Chapter 2

[[Feb 2013: Few edits, nothing big. Spelling and grammar, mostly]]

Sorry for the silence, it's been longer than I intended. There was a death in my family, and so my access of the Internet has been restricted as of late (as the phone has been a vital tool). Anyway, I had a moment, so I thought I'd chuck this up.

By the way, I've just finished reading Death Star. It's a novel by Michael Reaves and Steve Perry and it's great; I really enjoyed it. It gives a bit of depth to the side of the Death Star not seen in the films – that of the civilians and workers onboard – and is a great story. Read it if you can.

Disclaimer: As always, no

Thank you for all the support of the first chapter. Personally I'm still a little wary of this story; and I'm not sure why. But if you like it, then I will keep writing!

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"Governor Dustin Illaryn?"

The question shook Illaryn out of his thoughts. It had been two or so hours since the transmission to the Temple, but now Illaryn saw that approaching him was who he had been waiting for: a human female, middle-aged, with long, tied back hair and calming eyes. She smiled, shaking his hand as she sat down next to him.

"I'm Jedi Master Thracia Cho-Leem. Master Windu told me a little of what happened, but you're the one who saw it. What did happen?"

Illaryn explained briefly about the trial and the death threats, his reasons for wanting Jedi guards and the incident with their speeder. He went on to explain, in as much detail as he could remember, the fight with the gang on the sky-bridge. Thracia listened quietly, and was silent for a moment after he finished.

"Would you know the symbol if you saw it again?"

Illaryn nodded. "I can see it perfectly; and I'd definitely recognize it again."

"Could you draw it?"

"Well, yes, I suppose," said Illaryn, slightly caught out by the suggestion. A moment later he was roughly sketching it on a piece of flimsy that Thracia had pulled out of a pocket deep in her robe. It did not take him long – the spheres, the grid, the 'S' and he added the slogan at the bottom. Thracia took the finished, if very rough, sketch and put it back in her pocket.

"Thank you, that's perfect – I'll scan it back and the Temple and search the Archives for a match. It's very helpful Governor, thank you again." She stood. "Can you now please show me where Obi-Wan fell?"

Illaryn nodded, leading her outside to the bridge. It was not difficult to find the place where the fight took place – not only was the speeder still there, burned and wrecked; the metal beneath their feet was covered in blast marks and carbon scoring. Illaryn walked over to the barrier, and looked over, not sure what he would find. The lower platform was a less used one, more like an alleyway under the overhang. From his position, Illaryn could see a body.

He pointed it out to Thracia, who looked down at it silently and solemnly. "Come on, Governor," she said quietly. "We'll need my speeder."

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"Over here, Master Cho-Leem."

Illaryn lead the way to the body, clad in the familiar robes of the Jedi Order. Thracia frowned sadly as she looked at the still figure and the blood on the ground; but then her senses peaked as she felt the Force nudging her, and a subtle, almost overlooked, ripple in the Force. A life-reading. This Jedi wasn't dead.

Kneeling down next to him, she gently turned the body over, from his side to his back, to reveal the face of the young man. Thracia knew both Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, and liked them – they were a little strange, maybe, but then who wasn't? She placed a hand lightly on Obi-Wan's temple and nodded in satisfaction. "He's alive."

Illaryn's eyes widened. "He is? But surely the fall…"

"Jedi are more resilient than that, Governor. I'll get the speeder. Stay with him – and try to wake him." She jogged away, around the corner, towards the parked speeder, leaving Illaryn to crouch down next to Obi-Wan's inert body.

He had thought the young Jedi was dead…but sure enough, on close inspection, Obi-Wan was breathing – shallow, uneven breaths. He was pale; and there was some blood from a head wound, but he was alive.

"Obi-Wan? Can you hear me? Obi-Wan?"

"Illaryn?" Obi-Wan murmured, opening his eyes, as the man came slowly back into focus. He felt terrible; he had stabbing pains in his back and shoulder, his head was swimming and he the rest of him ached all over with a dull pain.

Illaryn sighed in relief as the Jedi opened his eyes. "Thank the Gods."

Obi-Wan struggled to rise up, picking himself up carefully to a sitting position – and hissed in pain as he moved his left shoulder – the one he had landed on. He lifted a hand to the side of his head – he could feel dried blood – and looked over at the man crouched down next to him, realising what was odd about this picture. "Where's Qui-Gon?" he asked in a soft, pained whisper.

Illaryn bit his lip. Obi-Wan, immediately sensing something wrong, reached out to the bond, only to find it still and silent – he could still feel Qui-Gon's presence, but his Master was not responding nor could Obi-Wan sense any emotions or impressions through the Force-link. Strange.

"Illaryn, where is he?"

"He's gone, Obi-Wan. He was caught by those pirates."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes in defeat, as Illaryn began to ramble next to him. "Can you remember the fight? And you fell – we thought you were dead – so did the pirates, they left you and took him – they sedated him with something, I don't know what – I thought you were dead, I really did – I used my comlink and called the Temple – Master Cho-Leem is here; she's gone to get her speeder-"

"Which way did they go?" Obi-Wan softly interrupted, trying to ignore the pain in his head and shoulder. Taking a breath, he reached out to the warmth of the Force and felt some of the pain drain away. He placed one hand on the protesting muscles of his left shoulder and began to massage some of the remaining pain out of it. It didn't appear to be broken, but it hurt terribly. Oh well – at least he was right-handed.

Illaryn shook his head. "I followed them, a few streets, as far as I could – to a landing pad. They went to their ship, and took off…it was a few hours ago, maybe more. You've been unconscious for a while."

A soft humming noise indicated the arrival of Thracia Cho-Leem in the speeder, and a few moments later she drove around the corner, stopping next to the injured Jedi and leaping lightly from the driver's seat to help Obi-Wan up.

"Easy, Obi-Wan," she murmured gently, putting one arm around his shoulders to support him. "That, by the look of it, was quite a spectacular fall and you've not been awake very long."

"Master…Master Cho-Leem? What-?"

She cut him off with a shake of her head. "All in time, Kenobi, all in time. You need some medical attention; we need to get Illaryn back to Coruscant Central; and you have to talk to the Council."

"But my Master! He's been captured…we have to go after him," said Obi-Wan, as he sank into the back seat of the speeder, one hand on his injured shoulder, and Thracia started up the small craft. Turning around, she smiled sadly at him.

"There's nothing we can do, not now – not while this mission needs completing, and you're in the state you're in. The Council knows what happened here, thanks to Illaryn's transmission. Rest, Kenobi. You need it."

Obi-Wan felt the whisper of a Force-suggestion touch his mind, and he fell into a light healing sleep. He had to find Qui-Gon…he would find him…he would…

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Obi-Wan woke over an hour later, as the speeder approached the Courts. A witness escort appeared to greet Illaryn and take him inside. He bowed respectfully to the still-drowsy Obi-Wan, who replied with an inclination of his head.

"Thank you, Apprentice Kenobi. To both you and your Master."

"Thank you, Governor," Thracia smiled, sparing Obi-Wan a reply. "Thanks to you we have a solid lead to find Master Jinn. Good luck for the case."

"And luck for your search." He turned away, to the Court and the trial, and Thracia swung the speeder around and headed towards the Jedi Temple.

Obi-Wan leant his head back and closed his eyes, feeling the cool air across his face. He still felt ill, unfocused, and his left shoulder and head still hurt terribly, but other than that he felt much better. As he relaxed, he started to put everything together: the fight, Qui-Gon's capture – the link was still unresponsive – and what was about to happen. He had to speak to the Council – oh, good.

Obi-Wan had picked up his Master's ill feelings about the Jedi High Council over the years. Although he did not disobey them like Qui-Gon occasionally did, it was still unnerving to have to stand before them – and alone, no less. He had always had Qui-Gon next to him…but now it was only him.

Thracia landed the speeder in the hangar, and helped Obi-Wan out. He was hurting, but it was fading slowly with the help of the Force.

"You're to speak to the Council right now," Thracia said quietly as they made their way through the halls slowly for Obi-Wan's benefit. "I'm coming with you; they want a report off me." She shot him a mischievous smile. "We thought you were dead."

"You did?"

"Yes – well, Illaryn did, and told Mace as much. There will be many who will be relieved to see you alive, Kenobi."

Obi-Wan sighed. "Truth be told, I'm surprised myself, Master Cho-Leem. I was knocked off the platform by a frag grenade…I remember wondering if I would survive."

Obi-Wan leant gratefully against the turbo lift wall, carefully moving his left shoulder around, and hissing quietly in pain as something in it clicked. It felt better now, he decided, now whatever it was had been moved back. Thracia watched him, frowning, and placed a hand on it. Obi-Wan felt the soothing warmth of healing energy flow into it removing some of the pain – Thracia was a well-trained healer at the Temple; he had forgotten.

"That shoulder might need some more work, Kenobi – you landed on it and caused a lot of strain. It wasn't broken or dislocated, just crushed. How's your head, by the way?"

Obi-Wan touched his head gently at her reminder, feeling the bruising beneath his fingertips as he removed the blood with his cloak sleeve. "Still sore, but getting better. It's a bit hard to focus."

Thracia shrugged. "That's to be expected. I doubt this meeting will either be very long, or be a grilling, so it shouldn't be long until you can rest properly. And-" she cut him off as Obi-Wan opened his mouth to speak, "Kenobi, you will rest. As much as I hate to say it, Qui-Gon can't be helped right now – we need to trace the captors first, and you can't help him when injured and unfocused."

"Trace them?" Obi-Wan pounced on the words, and the hope they gave. "How?"

"Illaryn memorised a design on the ship, and drew it for me. I'm going to run it though the Archive databases and see what comes up: I'll do it straight after this meeting. But you, Kenobi," she said, fixing him with a stare, "will not be with me – you will be heeding my advice and resting. That's an order as a senior healer."

Obi-Wan nodded obediently. Thracia was right, of course, but part of him – the part that was thinking straighter than the rest and was uninjured – wanted to go to the Archives now. Ever minute that passed, Qui-Gon got further and further away. Who knew who had caught him, or why? Money was an answer, yes – but what was the reason behind the bounty in the first place? Who had been putting bounties on live Jedi? So much of this didn't make sense.

The turbolift reached the top of the spire where the High Council was located. Stepping out onto the soft carpet of the small hallway, Obi-Wan sighed, trying to calm himself and project the aura expected of a twenty-four-year-old Senior Padawan. It wasn't easy, but Obi-Wan guessed that as long as he could control his emotions, it probably didn't matter if the Council could read into him or not. They seemed to be able to do it to anyone anyway.

The shorter the meeting was, the better. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand. The dizziness, which had been with him since he awoke, was getting worse and now coming in waves. He hoped he could compose himself before the Council, although there was part of him that no longer cared.

A Council aide appeared and bowed to the both of them.

"They are ready for you now."

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Of course I didn't kill off Obi-Wan. Most worked that out…and the shoulder thing was revenge for TPM: in the Duel of the Fates, Obi-Wan gets kicked or something (can't remember right now, but I'm pretty sure it's a boot to the face) off one of the catwalks by Darth Maul and lands heavily on his left shoulder…in my opinion, he should have hurt it (though I'm aware that adrenaline blocks out pain). Anyway, I decided to give him the injury he deserved! [[Feb 2013: Though I should add that this story is set before TPM, it's just a bit of pre-revenge, nothing connected to the film.]]

Reviews are, as always, appreciated and wanted!


	3. Chapter 3

[[Feb 2013: Made some more minor adjustments.]]

Jeeeeepers...well, it is safe to say I got DISTRACTED! By a certain Boy-Who-Lived...a while ago one of the TV channels replayed the first four movies of Harry Potter. So I watched them...and then decided to re-read all the books. I'd forgotten how much they rock my world (along with SW, of course)...but this led to HP fics...I never forgot about this, I was just...distracted.

So if you do like HP, go read my HP fics! (Especially _Inner Demons_, which I really love and am in the middle of) [[Feb 2013: It's also on the "get it finished" list.]]

Enough of the self-promotion - this update if for Elfpen, who PMed me and told me to get my butt in gear and update (not quite in those words, but the message was there!)

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Stepping through the doors of the Council Chamber, a pace behind Thracia, Obi-Wan could feel something was wrong – there was an anxiety, a worry, which was palpable in the air. That was unusual. The Council were famed for its impassive, calm, emotionless, all-knowing act. Something _must_ be wrong to produce such a reaction.

Mace Windu was, as always, sitting silently and calmly in front of where they stood. He regarded them calmly, but Obi-Wan could see there was something going on behind his dark eyes. "Padawan Kenobi – it is good to see you are not one with the Force. How do you feel?" Obi-Wan could hear a shallow amusement in the Master's voice.

"Sore, Master Windu, and a little unfocused."

Mace nodded and cut the small talk. "Obi-Wan, the capture of your Master is not an isolated incident." There was something pained about his words, as he gestured behind Obi-Wan and Thracia, who both turned to look at the rest of the Council Chamber. Obi-Wan immediately noticed what was wrong; what must be causing the Council's unrest.

Two of the twelve seats were empty.

"Master Gallia and Master Koth?" Obi-Wan said in amazement, after doing a mental role-call, as he turned back to Mace and Yoda, who nodded sadly.

"Lost contact with Master Koth on his last mission, we did – most unlike him, it is. And a tale of capture, Master Gallia's Padawan tells."

_Siri_, Obi-Wan thought. She was in the same position as him – a lost Master. He wondered, briefly, what had happened to them. He would find and ask her later – right now, he had to keep his mind on what was going on.

Mace sighed. "There are more – Masters Shaak Ti and Luminara Unduli, as well as Master Kit Fisto's Padawan Bant Eerin, are also missing."

That hit Obi-Wan almost like a physical blow. Bant? His oldest friend at the Temple, and one of his best…her, too? What linked all these?

"As well as those who are known as missing," Ki-Adi-Mundi started softly, "there have been an increase in bounty hunter attacks on Jedi out on missions; far more lately. We feel they are all connected, but have not yet found out any answers."

"I have a lead, Masters," Thracia put in, pulling the sketch out of her pocket. "I had Governor Illaryn draw it for me – it's the symbol on the side of the ship he saw. If we put it through an Archive scan, we can trace the ship to the owners or organization, and go from there."

Mace and Yoda nodded in unison. "Pass it on to Master Fisto, you should," said Yoda, his ears twitching slightly. "Heading an investigation, with the help of Padawan Tachi, he is. Join their investigation, _you_ should, Padawan Kenobi."

Obi-Wan nodded, relieved to be able to help in some way – he had been worried that he wasn't going to be able to become involved and would have to defy the Council, as Qui-Gon had done so many times, to find Qui-Gon himself. But working with Siri and Kit – three of them could find the missing Jedi and they _would_ – along with the answers everyone wanted.

Thracia shifted slightly next to him. "Firstly though, Kenobi, you will heed my advice as a healer and _rest_. You're no good to _any_ investigation if you pass out."

Obi-Wan nodded respectfully – he felt terrible anyway; and rest was not far from his thoughts. He was using the Force to keep the worst of the dizziness at bay, but did not know how much longer he could keep it up.

Mace steepled his fingers. "Sound advice, Master Cho-Leem. You are dismissed, Obi-Wan, and Thracia – we have another mission for you."

Obi-Wan bowed and left the room gratefully, glad to be out from under the impassive eyes of the Council. Walking slowly and a little unsteadily back to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan considered all that had, and hadn't, been said. Jedi going missing and getting captured, and the bounty hunter attacks? He remembered the Trandoshan bounty hunter's words from earlier, about credits, and sighed. There was definitely something wrong about all this. Could it all be linked? To what purpose?

Qui-Gon. Adi. Bant. Shaak Ti. Eeth Koth. Luminara Unduli. Six Jedi, all capable and powerful, and all captured…what, if anything, linked them?

Obi-Wan palmed open the apartment door. It was still and quiet inside – had it only been this morning that he and Qui-Gon had left to meet Illaryn? Qui-Gon's capture…how had he, Obi-Wan, let that happen? How could he have not fought his way to Qui-Gon's side? Why couldn't he have been taken instead? Why hadn't he been better; at fighting, at foreseeing events, at…anything that might have helped.

The apartment felt like Qui-Gon…still, memories and unhappy thoughts aside, it was home.

Obi-Wan sank onto one of the couches, running a hand through his short hair. He felt…tired, overall, and a little despairing. He was feeling worse than he had before; he had been on his feet to long; his body cried out for rest and healing. Falling unceremoniously sideways onto the soft cushions, Obi-Wan fell asleep quickly, his head cushioned by one arm.

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He could hear someone in the apartment. Qui-Gon? Had everything been a dream, after accidentally falling asleep in the apartment?

Obi-Wan could have laughed at himself. It was an immature, if vehemently wished for, notion – and his sore shoulder was a testament to reality.

He opened his eyes and sat up slowly, looking towards the kitchen where the noises were coming from. He could see two mugs on the bench, which hadn't been there when he came in, and caught a soft curse and flick of blonde hair in the soft light.

"Third drawer down on the left for the chai mix," Obi-Wan called, leaning his head back into the cushions and staring at the ceiling, brushing away the last shadows of sleep from his mind.

There was a startled gasp. "Force, I didn't realise you were awake…ah, here it is," said Siri Tachii, as she straightened and quickly made the two drinks. She picked them both up and passed one to Obi-Wan, who took it gratefully, before sitting on the couch opposite to him. "How are you feeling?"

Obi-Wan took a sip of the hot drink before answering, letting the warmth fill him and wake him further. "Better. More focused than before. Shoulder's stiff, but it'll be fine. What are you doing here?"

"I'm here on Master Fisto's askance. Don't you know you should be careful sleeping after getting head trauma? You could slip into a coma or something." She gave him her familiar mischievous grin.

"Don't sound so hopeful…Kit Fisto? Where is he?"

Siri frowned, thinking. "In the Archives, searching for a match to Illaryn's design, I think. Speaking of which, I've been told you're going to help us?"

Obi-Wan nodded. "Yes, I am."

Siri looked down at the mug in her hands. "We're in the same position, aren't we?" she said quietly, her tone revealing her worry. "Our Masters both missing…and there's nothing we can do but help Kit."

"We'll find them, Siri," Obi-Wan said consolingly, willing himself to believe his own words. "That design's a solid lead. What happened with you and Adi?"

She was silent for a moment before answering. "We were helping to negotiate a peace treaty in the Mid Rim, a usual mission, and easily done. We had it completed and were about to leave, to come back to Coruscant…" she paused, lost in memory. "Adi had one last finalisation to take care of and she said I wasn't needed. She was ambushed on the way back – I felt it through the Force, tried to get to her, but she stopped responding and I couldn't find her. I should have gone with her, I should have…I saw a group of scum – some kind of scum – running with her unconscious body and followed them; but their ship took off before I could get to her."

She fell into silence again, for a few moments, before picking up her story again. "I contacted the Temple – they said to come back and report. Kit's been working for a few days already, determined to find Bant – but this is the first really solid lead we've had. What about you and Qui-Gon?"

Obi-Wan smiled sadly. "I was left for dead, mid way through the fight."

Siri arched a sarcastic eyebrow. "Impressive."

Obi-Wan went on to tell her of the initial mission and the fight that went on – it was the first time he had really thought about it since it happened and so tried to recall every detail he could. It seemed so long ago, but in reality was only a few hours.

"That _is_ quite a story," said a quiet voice from the doorway. Both Padawans looked up in surprise, for neither had heard the Nautolan Jedi enter. Kit Fisto was leaning on the wall next to the doorway, watching them both, his trademark relaxed smile on his face. "I hope you do not mind our intrusion of your quarters, Obi-Wan – it just seemed easier because we – that is, Siri and I – knew you would probably be asleep here, recovering from your injuries."

"It's no trouble, Master Fisto – and I _was_ asleep, until a little while ago. Did you find anything in the Archives?"

Sitting down, Kit nodded, placing a file on the table between them. "The symbol Governor Illaryn remembered and drew for us is the symbol of House Salaktori, the most prominent of the Bounty Hunter Guild houses."

Siri cocked her head to the side slightly. "So it definitely was bounty hunters?"

"So it would seem." Kit rested his chin in his hand in thought. "They're easily traceable; we know their headquarters are on Resht VII. We can find answers there…or, at least some."

"Master Fisto…" Obi-Wan hesitated before finishing, not knowing if he was stepping across a line. "If I may ask, what happened to Bant?"

The Nautolan Jedi smiled sadly. "She was running an errand. When she was attacked, I went to help her – the cowards who attacked her piled on me to _delay_ me, not capture me, while they sedated her and took her away…" He lapsed into silence, which lengthened before he quietly spoke again. "They were from Crimson Nova, from what I could recognise, but I don't know which chapter. I haven't been able to find out anything useful."

"What about the Council?" Asked Obi-Wan. "What have they asked of us?"

It was Siri who answered, shrugging as she did so. "Answers. Leads. Find the Jedi, get them out, bring them back."

"And we start with a visit to Resht VII. It's in the Inner Rim – we leave tomorrow." Kit stood, picking up the file on House Salaktori. "Good night and good rest to the both of you – the Council will wish to speak with us in the morning, I'll see you then." He bowed to them both and left, all done with his trademark smile.

Siri watched him go, before standing herself. "You should probably get an early night – and rest that shoulder. I don't want to have to bail you out if we need to fight."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes melodramatically at her, before bidding her good night and leaning back on the cushions, now alone in the apartment. It suddenly felt so big when he was the only one here.

He considered meditating for a while, bringing himself back in tune with the Force, but simply felt too tired. Obi-Wan stood, heading to his own private quarters and lying down on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

His gaze moved to the model fighter that hung in one corner. Force knows why he still had that; he had made it when he was about thirteen. He never had gotten around to taking it down – but in his heart he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Where was Qui-Gon now? Who, exactly, had taken him, and why? Was he okay? Was he being – Force forbid – tortured, or kept in darkness, or alone and in need of help? Had he been initially taken alive and was to be killed? Or was it something more sinister? Obi-Wan could only remember too well the time Qui-Gon was captured by the mad scientist Jenna Zan Arbour…

But who had put a bounty on Jedi – and on _live_ Jedi at that? What was going on, on some random planet in the galaxy? How was everything connected?

Who was behind it all?

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What? I think Jedi drink Chai lattes. I know Mace drinks back coffee (with cream). That was in a random story in a Star Wars Tales comic. But I think Jedi should drink Chai…it would explain a few things, as Chai is the ultimate good in the universe. [[Feb 2013: This is still my headcanon.]]

Reviews make me happy!


	4. Chapter 4

[[Feb 2013: A few tweaks made.]]

Another day, another chapter! Thank you so much for all the support this story has received!

Disclaimer: Nope. I wish, you wish, _we all wish!_ The only one who had no need of this wish is Lucas, the lucky guy.

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Quinlan Vos ran a hand loosely through his dreadlocks. He hadn't been a Knight that long, only a few years, and Aayla Secura hadn't been his Padawan long either…how had he let this happen? It was a show of incompetence if anything, proof he wasn't ready to have a Padawan…Force, how had he let this happen?

Aayla was still new to the galactic life outside of Coruscant, so their first few missions had been simple for her sake as much as Quinlan's. Reconnaissance, escorts, supervising treaties and elections, that kind of thing. Missions that would give her a challenge, while not being out of her skill level. Quinlan had been grateful for them too – it gave him a chance to slip into a teacher-like feeling without being under external strain.

This one had been a supervision mission, of a local election. Quinlan had shown Aayla how to influence things by simply being present, and kept up his teachings about the universe around them. She hadn't begged for a solo job on the mission, to show her skills to her Master, but Quinlan had seen the want to prove herself, to make him proud.

So, on the second to last day, he had allowed to go on ahead to their next appointment: a last-minute security check, to go over the systems of the governmental plaza. If she was there before him, she could start without him.

Quinlan would never forget the smile that spread across her face when he told her to go on and begin without him. She had sprung out of the door with limitless energy, as Quinlan laughed quietly to himself and picked up his cloak.

The scream had made him break from a walk to a run. He felt something brush his mind – _Aayla_ – and then he had entered into the sunlit plaza, headed directly for a gang of shifty-looking individuals. They were crowed around another figure armed with the blue glow of a lightsaber.

"Master!"

Her cry was scarcely heard above the sound of blaster-fire and the hum of the Jedi weapons. Quinlan ran straight into the fray, his own lightsaber ignited, and began to fight his way to his apprentice. Aayla had been overcome quickly – she was unused to fighting on such a scale alone – and was now being carried away by three members of the group.

The hail of blaster fire was driving Quinlan back to where he could get better cover – he was no use to Aayla if he was dead. Frowning, Quinlan glared at his enemies, his sharp eyes picking out the rough and worn symbol adorning one of his opponent's armbands.

It had seen many fights and many planets, but the name connected to it rose slowly from Quinlan's memory.

The Zygerrian Slavers Guild.

Ducked momentarily in the shelter of a pillar, Quinlan got his breath back and tried his hardest to recall everything he knew about the Guild. Slavers of the Outer Rim, they were a large group who dealt mainly in Mandalorians – and Twi'leks.

Like Aayla.

Quinlan had sprung out from his cover, only to find the plaza empty. In those few precious seconds he had been out of their sight, they had run for it, seizing the chance to get away with their bounty. He sprinted for the northern arch, where the Force was telling him to go. Spinning around the corner, he saw nothing. Now he was standing here, urging the Force to tell him more.

Master Tholme's training came back to him in a rush. _Padawan, to rush blindly is to make mistakes. Sometimes you must stop and think to make your course of action clear. Stopping then prevents having to stop to think later._

Quinlan deactivated his lightsaber, clipping it back onto his belt and taking a deep breath to still his mind.

The Zygerrian Slavers Guild liked Twi'leks, yes – but didn't go after Jedi. For them to target a Twi'lek Jedi, even a Padawan, there had to be something more to all this. Secondly, he hadn't heard a starship ignition, so they were still planet-side. They had come this way and would still be on the move. He would track them to their hideout, and he would break in and find Aayla.

Quinlan broke into a run suddenly, his now calm mind working as he did so. He reached out to the newly formed bond with Aayla – it was still in its developmental stages, but there none the less. And through it, Quinlan could sense Aayla – so she was alive.

He'd get her back.

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The haze brought on by the concussion grenade was beginning to wear off. Qui-Gon opened his eyes and sat up slowly, assessing himself as he did so. No major injuries, no blood, but a binding around his wrists.

He was lying where he had been thrown roughly – on the floor of a force-cage. The shimmering barrier was in place, containing him, and he could see only vague detail about the room beyond. The floor beneath him was vibrating; so he was on a moving starship.

Qui-Gon reached out to the Force, only to find it slip from him. He couldn't reach it…

"Havin' trouble, Jedi?"

He looked up, as a bounty hunter appeared on the other side of the cage. The human – for human he was, although the cross-hatched scars on his face made him seem alien – grinned at his captive. "Awake, I see. Not too high and mighty now, are we?"

Qui-Gon rose slowly to his feet, keeping silent. The smile on his taunter's face faltered slightly under the steady yet calm gaze. He took half a step back, covering his hesitation by leaning quickly against the wall. One hand slipped down to sit on the butt of his blaster, and he tapped a finger against it leisurely.

"Strong and silent type, are we? Well I know ya strong…dunno how many guys you took out…must have been ten, at least. Impressive, ya know? You kriffing Jedi with your glowing swords and your fancy tricks…you may be Temple-rats and trouble makers for us, but you're impressive, I'll give ya that." He ran a hand through his greasy hair as the door opened.

As a Trandoshan entered, with a Bith behind him, the bounty hunter immediately stood slightly straighter. "Heya Aarlo…uh, Boss."

The Trandoshan scowled at him. "Kazel, you fraternising with the captive?"

Kazel's eyes unfocused in thought. "Frater…what?"

His only answer was a hard slap to the back of the head. The leader turned to Qui-Gon. "So you're awake, Jedi. You damaged?"

"I am not injured, if that is what you are asking," Qui-Gon replied calmly.

"Good." Aarlo glared at Kazel. "Get outta here, scum. No talking to the prisoners. Ya don't know when he'll cast one of those spells and make ya do something he wants." Kazel left the small room hurriedly.

Aarlo stepped closer to the cage as an evil smile spread across his face. "But then again, you can't, can you? Missing ya light magic? Ya 'Force' or whatever? Can ya feel the prick?"

Qui-Gon was suddenly aware of a tingling sensation on the side of his neck. Reaching up slowly to give away none of his concern, his fingertips touched a slight lump on his skin.

Experience told him what it was: an injection mark. He had been administered something – a drug of some kind. Whatever it was, it was preventing his use of the Force.

"Force-suppressor," said Aarlo in answer to Qui-Gon's unasked question. "One simple needle, and the mighty Jedi are reduced to pathetic captives." He snorted. "I'm lucky it was provided, otherwise ya might be more trouble, aye?"

_Provided?_ Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. They had been _given_ it? To use specifically on him – or whatever Jedi? Whoever was behind this had knowledge and skill, that was for sure. "Who hired you?"

The grin vanished from Aarlo's face in an instant. "Who the kriff are you to ask questions?"

"I know there's a bounty on Jedi. I know you're usually to afraid to go after one without the promise of a substantial reward. I know you won't hurt me – you need me undamaged; you said so yourself. Who hired you?" Qui-Gon stared at Aarlo, letting his gaze rest on the other outside the shimmer of the cage's shield.

"Like I'd tell ya anyway," Aarlo growled. "I gotta get you there alive; there's big credits in it for us. Kriff knows why anyone wants you Temple-rats _alive_…the less you're around to pry into the business of others, the kriffing better."

With that, he turned on his heal and left, pausing for a moment outside the door. "You'll meet our client soon – but from what I've heard, he's gonna make us seem like a bunch of dirty Ewoks in comparison."

The metal door swung shut, and Qui-Gon found himself blissfully alone. As soon as a source of external focus was gone, Qui-Gon sank down onto his knees, suddenly feeling exhausted. How was he going to get out of this? He tried to reach the Force again; but the drug was working too well, and he felt nothing. He couldn't even reach the familiar link with…

Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon felt fear and pain enshroud him as the memories rushed back. Obi-Wan had fallen…from the bridge, in the fight. And he, Qui-Gon had watched, done _nothing_ – overtaken by concussion gas – as he watched it unfold.

Fallen to his death? Had Qui-Gon's beloved Padawan been taken from him? Was there a body lying where it had landed, void of life and spirit? He hadn't been able to feel him through their link before he passed out. Oh, Force no. Anyone but him…he had so much potential, so much life…to be ended in a fight with bounty hunters? It didn't seem right. He couldn't get his head around it…Obi-Wan…dead?

Perhaps not. Was the poor young man now lying injured and alone, _dying_? Was he unable to move or speak, slipping away from this world and into the Force, without his Master to help him heal? Were his last thoughts going to be of abandonment and solitude? Had Qui-Gon truly failed him for the last time?

Qui-Gon uncharacteristically lashed out at the cage that held him. Without the Force, without the Force-bond, he knew nothing! The bond could tell him if Obi-Wan were alive or dead, if he were hurt…

…if he were alive.

He could be. He could be fine, and even now searching for his missing Master. Qui-Gon held onto the thought and the hope it gave. If Obi-Wan was all right, if he had survived the fall, he would come. Of this, Qui-Gon had no doubt – there had been other times when they had been separated, and each time they had found one another, no matter what the circumstances. Obi-Wan would come, and prove once again how skilled he had become.

If he wasn't dead.

Qui-Gon pushed the negative thought to the back of his mind. He had no way of knowing the truth so it was best to hold on to the optimistic answer to help him through this.

But what was 'this'?

Who was responsible? And why? Where was he being taken? Why was _he_ still alive? And why, Force forbid, did he have to be uninjured? Capturing Jedi, alive and unhurt, but cut off from the Force – to what purpose?

But who could it be, with the wealth to promise big credit payouts, the knowledge of anti-Jedi drugs and the power to sway the bounty hunters?

"_He's gonna make us seem like a bunch of dirty Ewoks in comparison."_

Qui-Gon had a bad feeling about this.

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To anyone who picked it up: Yes, Aarlo and Kazel are names from the old XBox game _Sudeki _(Though the one in the game is spelt Arlo, not with two 'a's like I used). I love that game.

So, there we go. Another chapter. Reviews keep Jedi in the light!


	5. Chapter 5

[[Feb 2013: Minor changes.]]

Apologies. For the last three weeks my life and time has been taken up with a performance of _Les Miserables_ that I was in. We had a total sell-out season, standing ovations every night, an amazing cast, and now it's over and my life seems rather empty… [[Feb 2013: Man, that was amazing. Still fond memories.]]

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Mace Windu steepled his fingers, the fingertips pressing against one another. "What we need is answers. These…_bounties_ must not be allowed to continue, and these missing Jedi must not increase in number."

"Send you, we do, on the investigation," Yoda said from his chair next to Mace. "Careful, you must be. No knowledge we have of what this is linked to."

Before them stood Kit, Obi-Wan and Siri. An unusual alliance, but a welcome one – all three were capable and skilled, and the fact that Siri and Obi-Wan were _Senior_ Padawans would make this mission all the easier: experience here would be invaluable. The team-up was unorthodox, but at this stage of events that was the last thing anyone was thinking about. The three were bound by duty and longing to find their missing opposites, and so were the most deserving and qualified to undertake this mission.

The Council, now only ten members strong, was putting their hope within these three.

"Go to Resht VII," Mace said calmly. "Find the headquarters of House Salaktori, and find answers – who put the bounties on these Jedi, and where they have been taken."

He paused, and then softly spoke again. "May the Force be with you."

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The ship was called the _Millennium Falcon_. A heavily modified Corellian light freighter, the details of how the Jedi Order acquired such a ship were still relatively unknown. As it was, the ship was moderately sized and easy to pilot, with reasonable living quarters and a point five hyperdrive…making it the fastest craft in the Jedi Temple hangar.

Obi-Wan was sitting at the co-pilot's controls; Siri having beaten him to the Captain's chair. Not that he minded. Much.

Kit was meditating, so the Padawans were taking the ship into hyperspace. Both were skilled in piloting and soon the ship was in hyperspace and en route to the Inner Rim planet of Resht VII.

Obi-Wan leant back in his chair and looked over at Siri, who was putting the ship onto autopilot. Her task completed, she looked over to him and smiled wearily. Obi-Wan could see slight shadows under her eyes that he hadn't noticed before.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine – I just didn't sleep well last night. Worried about Adi."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I know how you feel."

"And what about our bond?" Siri ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "It's like…oh, I don't know."

"Like it's muted," Obi-Wan offered simply. "I can still feel Qui-Gon…but can't sense him, if you see my meaning. There are no impressions, emotions, or thoughts coming through it – but I can definitely feel his presence."

"It's the same with Adi. At least we know they are alive." Siri looked out the window. Obi-Wan knew what she was thinking – it was on his mind too.

"But for how long?" Kit softly asked the unspoken thought from behind them. The Nautolan had arrived unseen and unheard by the two younger Jedi and was currently leaning on the doorway, his head-tentacles slightly brushing the roof of the cockpit. "I have the same link to Bant. Silent, yet present." His black eyes watched them both calmly. "Now come, the both of you – there are things we must discuss."

He turned and moved back to the common area of the _Falcon_, Siri and Obi-Wan following. When they were all seated, Kit leaned forward conspiratorially, his arms resting on his knees. He looked between the two of them.

"What do you know about House Salaktori?"

"They're the biggest of the Bounty Hunter Guild houses," Siri said after a moment. "They don't really have a specialisation, unlike some of the other houses of the Guild."

"They're also the biggest collaborators with other groups," Obi-Wan continued. "Because of their size, there have been multiple reports of their partnerships with OutlawTech, the Zygerrian Slavers Guild, and even the Sabaoth Squadron on occasion."

Kit nodded in approval. "Good. So can you guess our problem? Salaktori is very big and complex, _incredibly_ dangerous, deeply connected, and Resht VII is its major stronghold, where we are travelling to…so what's our problem?" The well-known mischievous glint was in his eye as he raised an eyebrow at the Padawans.

"There's only three of us."

Kit grinned at Obi-Wan. "Exactly. This will be _difficult_ – the information we need is likely to be in the main, if not hidden, control room and major databank. That's where most, if not all, of the hits and contracts have records of some kind – to be used against denying clients, mostly – it's happened before in the courts."

"So how are we going to do this?" Siri asked, mimicking Kit's conspiratorial stance and leaning forward, her arms on her knees.

"There are many ways into a stronghold of this kind, I'm sure both of you know that. The question that remains is which one serves our purpose best, and will have the highest likelihood of success?"

Kit leaned back and counted them off on his slender, green fingers. "One: going in undercover as a freelance bounty hunter. Two: infiltrating the stronghold without being seen, through ventilation shafts and pure skill. Three: finding a weak-minded lackey with low intelligence who has more greed than brains. Four: going in and posing as a _client_. Five: hacking the central database. Those are the only five I can see that have promise."

"My opinion, Master Fisto, is that we should infiltrate at night," Siri said. "That way we have no possibility of being out of place physically, masquerading under a thin disguise, or having to rely on a third party to complete the mission. It appears to be less risk."

"Only if we're not seen. But I see your point." Kit looked to the other apprentice. "Obi-Wan?"

"I agree with Siri; infiltration seems to be the best; but not by much. But I think that we should attempt to hack into the data _first_. There's a high possibility it won't work – Salaktori's firewalls and computer protection will be outstanding – but if there is any chance we could retrieve the information that way without having to set foot in such a dangerous area, then I think it best."

Kit nodded, pleased. "Good plans, the both of them. I agree with you both, but will add my own opinion to the mix. My own plan is this: we _will_ attempt the hacking when we arrive, using an external source that is either untraceable or local – either way will block Salaktori knowing who it is should they realise they are being broken into. Should the hacking fail, or we risk being caught, then we move on to the infiltration. This will happen two-fold, at the same time. _I_ will go as a bounty hunter through the front door, while the two of you find a more…_secretive_ way inside. We will have an appointed meeting time and place – which you must turn up to, information or no information. Should this also fail, then we find ourselves a suitable idiot to help us."

Both Padawans nodded. This plan was sound – all it would take was the skill to pull it off properly.

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_*Access Denied*_

Obi-Wan frowned, typing another combination across the keyboard, and checking the coding of the firewall. This code should be an at least semi-security override, getting the more basic systems out of the way. The data port hummed, changed pitch, and then the symbol flashed green.

_*Access Granted*_

Obi-Wan grinned. They had only been on Resht VII for about and hour, and here he was, sitting in the corner of a small and dingy data-café. Kit was next to him at another port, helping shield Obi-Wan's work from the unneeded and potentially dangerous view of other customers. He had been at work for the past twenty or so minutes, breaking delicately through whatever blocks the security system around the Salaktori mainframe threw at him.

"How are you going?" Kit asked in a low voice, pretending to read something on his screen.

"Fine, Master Fisto," Obi-Wan responded in a similar tone. "I've got through the basic security and some of the system is open to me now. Hook up your datapad and I'll send you the unlocked information as I get it."

Kit fiddled for a moment with some wires before his own screen lit up with the same information. "So you've got access to the low priority level stuff, but nothing higher?"

"I'm working on it now…there. That's information from the next two levels."

Nodding, Kit began scanning a list of names. Obi-Wan paused from his own work at glace over. "What's that, if I may ask?"

Kit grinned and he continued scanning. "An interesting, if misnamed so hidden list of those Salaktori will have to soon eliminate if their complete trust to the House is not proved…I'm hoping one of these names will be the lackey we are looking for, should his services be required."

"Ah." Obi-Wan turned back to his screen and paused before typing another override code. This was beginning to get very hard, the deeper he went. The computer technicians of the House Salaktori had done an exceptional job on the coding and may times he had found himself at technological dead-ends. Each level was taking longer and longer to crack, too – at this rate he'd crack the deepest one in a matter of weeks…

A few vital instructions to the system had initially provided Obi-Wan with the basic information of the system itself – fifty-two levels, each set at a higher priority, each level with a different firewall and code to crack. Each one holding different information and files; some dead ends, others full of useless information to their purpose. Fifty-two levels.

And Obi-Wan was working on the fifteenth.

Pausing to rest his hands against the console, Obi-Wan stared at the screen. This was a massive task. He hoped Siri was having more luck on the job Kit had given her. He had handed the young woman a list and a lot of credits, then told her to be back within the hour, sooner if she felt she was in danger.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Siri walked through the door, her cloak wrapped tight around her. Not only was Resht VII cold, it covered her Jedi garments. Obi-Wan and Kit had wrapped their cloaks around themselves in a similar fashion for the same reason.

She carried two bags, which she put between her fellow Jedi. Kit opened one and grinned. "Well done, Siri Tachi! These will do perfectly." In response to Obi-Wan's asking look, he pulled up a slightly torn and heavy duty blaster belt, obviously second-hand. "Things to befit my new-found bounty hunter status."

"Any luck with the hacking?" Siri asked, looking at Obi-Wan's screen.

"I'm stuck here, level fifteen – all my tricks haven't worked on this one. They're all different…any ideas?"

Siri frowned, staring at the screen in thought. "No, sorry. You probably know more than me."

Obi-Wan typed for a further ten minutes, trying more risky codes to break the block. Finally, one worked – level fifteen was open, and he loaded it to Kit's datapad. Now…he turned his attention to sixteen. Another level, another new code, another new tangle of security.

After only a few minutes of typing, the data port's hum flickered slightly, as if a power surge had passed through it. Frowning, Obi Wan quickly typed a much shorter code into the system, looked at the result and began shutting down the data port.

"We're being traced."

His soft statement immediately dissolved Kit and Siri's conversation. "Are you sure?" Kit asked as Obi-Wan stood casually.

"The data port hum changed. It's meant to sound like a power surge so no one gets suspicious, but it's a tracking programme. And suddenly the internal matrix for this particular port has a connection being formed _externally_. We need to leave."

"How did you know that?" Siri asked him quietly as the three of them slipped out and onto the snow covered streets of Resht VII.

"Ask Qui-Gon. We were caught in the same way on a mission, years ago…" Obi-Wan trailed off as he thought of his Master. Qui-Gon…where was he? Was he all right? He was still alive – his presence hadn't wavered – but who had him? Could he be here, Force forbid, in Salaktori's captivity? Obi-Wan broke from his thoughts as Siri laid a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"I'm sure he's fine," she said, immediately knowing his mind.

"And so is Adi." Obi-Wan returned. It had become a mantra for the two of them over the trip. Whenever he wasn't thinking about something important to the mission or focused on a task, Obi-Wan always found his thoughts coming back to the man who was like his father, his family…and Obi-Wan knew Siri was going through something similar.

Kit looked both ways up the small street. "We need to get going. The next part of our plan must be done tonight."

"Shouldn't we wait? They've just had a computer break in – won't they be edgy?" asked Siri.

Kit grinned. "No waiting. Their edginess will make them jump at shadows, therefore making it easier for us to sneak inside: they'll be worried about hacking, not physical infiltration. Their focus will be on the technological, not the obvious."

"Then we had better get ready and do it soon, while the threat is still apparent," said Obi-Wan, pulling his cloak around him tighter.

Kit nodded. "We'll only get one chance. This has to be done delicately."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooo

Apparently the Falcon _was_ in possession of the Jedi before Masters Calrissian and Solo got their hands on it…the details aren't too clear, but I just had to add the Falcon if I could get away with it in any way…


	6. Chapter 6

So, after tweaking my pre-existing chapters in Feburary, I'm finally at a place in my other big story I'm finishing (a_ Lord of the Rings_ tale called _Just One Drop_) that I'm pretty sure I can work on the both of them together.

This chapter is dedicated to **Starhunter79**, whose encouraging messages and words motivated me to come back to this story and bring it back to life, and to **Raven's Dusk**, whose review only a few days ago reminded me that I had promised to do just that. Thanks guys.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooo

Qui-Gon was meditating when he felt the craft he was captive on pull out of hyperspace. Easing his eyes open, he found nothing had changed in his immediate surroundings – the blank walls of the starcraft still gave away no information to help him identify his location, hazy as they were through the force-cage. Aside from the dull sound of the engines, and the distant shouting of orders to crew, the hold was quiet.

The captive Jedi listened as the engines of the ship slowly changed pitch. If he focused, he could sense the ship's change in angle and knew they were landing. Idly, Qui-Gon wondered exactly where they were – the final destination of the trip, or a waypoint to refuel, perhaps? He supposed he would find out soon enough.

There was a slight bump as the craft touched down properly, and the whine of the engines died away. A moment later Qui-Gon heard footsteps approaching and the door to the room he was in hissed open. Aarlo, the Trandoshan who had taunted him earlier, entered. He was with the same human from before, Kazel and the silent Bith. Qui-Gon stood as Kazel levelled a blaster at him, and Aarlo reached out to the controls of the force-cage.

"No trouble now, Jedi." The slits in Aarlo's orange eyes narrowed. "There's no point."

As soon as the cage was deactivated, Qui-Gon found the blaster barrel shoved under his chin in a completely uncivilised way. There wasn't much need for it, as the Force-suppressor he had been given earlier was still clouding his mind and his exhaustion from the fight on the sky bridge had not abated. The Bith came forward, a needle in his hand, and Qui-Gon could only stand as a fresh batch of the suppressor flooded his veins. Almost immediately he felt his clouded mind grow worse, as he struggled to keep his attention to what was going on. Once the initial effects had passed, he was unceremoniously marched from the hold and off the craft.

Waiting at the base of the ship's ramp were the rest of Aarlo's crew. They were an odd assortment of humans and aliens, and one or two droids. Each one wore an expression of contempt or boredom in regard to their Jedi captive, and all were armed. These pirates were taking no chances, giving him a fully armed escort to whatever their destination was.

As they walked to the hanger doors, Qui-Gon took in his surroundings. The starport was small and unimpressive; evidently not a major trade port. There was only one small battered craft in the bay aside from the one he has been prisoner on, and it was undergoing repairs. The open hanger doors they were making their way towards showed glimpses of an ordinary sky; it was a partially cloudy day and, from what Qui-Gon could guess of the shadows, late afternoon.

A transport awaited them. Qui-Gon, still at the mercy of numerous blasters and blaster rifles, was pushed into a seat and settled in for the ride. The streets they passed through reminded him of Coruscant's industrial district – unadorned, simple architecture, useful rather than beautiful. There was no sign of grass, just metal structures belching out harsh smoke and uniform warehouses of rough metal covered in grime. Wherever they had landed, it wasn't meant to attract attention.

As the mismatched band travelled, Qui-Gon watched as the landscape began to change. Slowly the warehouses grew cleaner and more extravagant, and soon the transport began to rise as the buildings became less industrialised and more leisurely, then utterly grandiose. So he was on a wealthy planet, or at least one that had a wealthy contingent of population. As the rose higher, Qui-Gon saw the expanses of the glittering city stretching before him, the darker lower levels lost amid the glass and crystal structures that glittered in the sunlight like trophies; obvious indicators of the wealth and status of those who resided there. An ecumenopolis, then? A city-planet, akin to Coruscant, where the rich and beautiful existed in the clouds and the rest of society descended, from level to level, until the dregs of society existed in the shady underworld of levels so low the sky was hardly seen.

They were still rising, heading into the top lanes of traffic – evidently meeting someone of power and influence then? Interesting. Whoever was behind this plot was evidently high in society.

The craft was approaching a landing pad attached to a grand tower. Dark stone, polished to a high shine, reflected the light and caused the tower to appear like it was glowing, the architecture was majestic and powerful rather than garishly decorated. It emanated wealth and influence – and Qui-Gon did not like it.

After landing, Qui-Gon's ever-armed captors escorted him into an atrium. Elegant paintings adorned the walls, crystalline sculptures stood on pedestals, and a grand window provided a sight of the sky and city, stretching to the edge of the ocean in the distance. Oh yes, Qui-Gon considered – whoever was behind this was going to great lengths to set themselves up in such an impressive and intimidating way.

A male Togruta appeared at the top of the staircase that curved out of sight before the group. He was dressed in flowing dark green robes, which shifted around him as he descended. His lekku and montrals were covered in the blue and white markings typical to his species, but the blue pigment was darker than Qui-Gon had seen, and the white face markings were bold around his eyes against his dark orange skin tone.

"Aarlo, I take it?" he asked quietly as he reached the bottom of the staircase. Aarlo grunted in reply, one had on his blaster.

"And this is the captive?" The Togruta looked Qui-Gon over as if he was appraising him, before glancing at Aarlo. "The lightsaber."

Aarlo scowled and handed over Qui-Gon's precious lightsaber hilt. The Togruta smirked as he inspected it closely. "Part of the deal, bounty hunter. You knew that."

"Where's our payment, Togruta?"

Raising any eyebrow at Aarlo's clipped and impatient tone, the Togruta leaned over to a nearby table and removed a case that was sitting on it. He passed it to the Bith, who had silently come forward to collect it. Aarlo looked on as his Bith assistant opened the case, glanced over the contents, and nodded to him. Aarlo looked back to the Togruta as the Bith snapped the case closed again.

"We're done here."

With a last hiss of contempt to Qui-Gon, Aarlo turned on his heel and followed his men out to the landing platform. The door closed, leaving Qui-Gon with the Togruta The instant they were alone, the Togruta drew an elegant but evidently deadly blaster and levelled it at the Jedi. "Will you walk?"

"I do not seem to have a choice."

"Up the stairs," the Togruta replied, pointedly ignoring Qui-Gon's comment. "Sir wishes to meet his newest asset."

Slowly, Qui-Gon made his way up the stairs. Without the aid of the Force, it was impossible for him to tell if the Togruta had the only weapon trained on him, and he wasn't prepared to take the chance and attempt an escape. Penthouses such as this often had complex and impressive security systems.

At the top of the stairs was a door to Qui-Gon's left, and hall stretching deeper into the residence. The Togruta indicated the door, which Qui-Gon opened somewhat awkwardly with his still bound hands.

He entered into a wide office. The atrium's motif of art and sculpture was continued here, alongside a wide desk made of dark wood and some comfortable looking couches. A wide window gave a splendid view of the city beyond. Standing looking out the window was a figure, who turned as Qui-Gon entered with the Togruta.

Before him was a human man, of average height and slim build. Dark blonde hair fell to broad shoulders, framing the angular face. Dark brow eyes stared out at his captive. He was dressed in dark clothing, reminiscent of Jedi garb but made of far higher quality fabrics. A heavy golden belt sat around his hips, with a lightsaber clipped to it. He tilted his head silently as he started at Qui-Gon, who guessed he was no older than thirty.

Recognition sparked in Qui-Gon's mind. "I know you."

"Oh, I'm sure you've seen me before," said the man, spreading his hands. "Although I hear all records of me have been wiped from the Temple. I find that just a _touch_ insulting."

Qui-Gon was trying to remember this man's name. A story from many years before, just before he took Obi-Wan as his apprentice, came to the front of his mind. A new Padawan, who had fallen to the shadows on a mission in the Outer Rim. Neither him for his Master had returned from investigating a threat, and the Padawan had vanished. All records were deleted, though the story was retained in Jedi lore. Qui-Gon looked again at the man before him. He had seen him around the Temple as a teenager, training, passed by in the halls as just another student. Qui-Gon couldn't even remember who the boy's Master had been.

"Karae Nalvas, at your service" said the man, mockingly inclining his head. "And I recognise you too, Master Jedi. Jinn, wasn't it?"

Qui-Gon ignored Nalvas's smirk. "You fell to the Dark Side."

"_I woke up_," Nalvas corrected, his smile widening. "And what a world to wake up to! I would tell you how wonderful it is, but you would just lecture me. And that's hardly pleasant." He rolled his eyes dramatically.

Qui-Gon seized his chance. "Why are you capturing and selling Jedi?"

"So you know why you're here? Excellent, I'm tired of explaining it all over again. I find myself in need of funds. Oh, no, nothing for you to be concerned by," he continued in reply to Qui-Gon's unasked question with a patronising wave of his hand. "Just a little side-project I've been thinking of undertaking." He stepped towards Qui-Gon, all flippancy gone. "There are some beings in this universe who would pay handsomely for a good slave. But they would pay _beyond belief_ for a controllable ex-Jedi slave – an icon of the Republic, of authority, under their thumb and subject to their whim."

He stepped back, smile back on his face, motioning for the Togruta to come forward, who had his blaster still fixed on Qui-Gon. The Togruta put one hand on Qui-Gon's bound wrists and guided him from the office and down the hallway, stopping by a turbolift bay. Nalvas led them, talking all the while. Even though his words were light, Qui-Gon didn't need the Force within reach to know they were a macabre façade for a malicious mind and evil soul. There was darkness here, and danger, by all accounts. Far more than appearances implied.

"I'll show you to your accommodation, you must be _tired_. You'll have a few roommates, should make things nice and cozy. Lights out at ten; and too much talking at any time will get you in trouble with the monitor. And we wouldn't want that. Breakfast is a set menu, and we keep the atmosphere _healthy_. All activities are currently on hold as the rock-climbing wall is being repaired."

"And now you're insulting me," Qui-Gon said wearily, as if to a child.

Nalvas stopped and turned to look at him, eyes blank but alight. The Dark Side washed over Qui-Gon, even with the Force-supressor still affecting him; and against his will he felt a chill of fear spread up his spine. "Whyever would I do that, Jedi?"

The Togruta roughly pushed Qui-Gon into the turbolift. Nelvas stepped in a keyed in a code rather than pushing one of the pre assigned buttons. As it descended, Qui-Gon was hyperaware of the barrel of the blaster in his side, just below his heart. There was a moment of silence, before Nalvas spoke again.

"You think I'm a fool. Inexperienced, arrogant. Your mind is clouded without the Force, and without the clarity it grants you cannot see more than the trappings I have clad myself in. You think escape will be easy; you await your opportunity to saunter off. Because you see me as no threat."

He turned. Although not as tall as Qui-Gon, Nalvas didn't seem to mind he was the shorter. Qui-Gon could feel the pressure on his mind as the Dark Side closed in around him, Nalvas's eyes unblinking as they bore into him. "I am more than you could dream, Jinn. You will loose yourself here, and be sold without rebellion in your veins. You will be a good little subordinate – and try as you might, you won't be able to withstand."

The turbolift doors opened. They had gone far down into the lower levels of the city; as the walls of the corridor were dank unforgiving metal. Qui-Gon was led into a cell bay, his hands were released and he was pushed into an empty cell without ceremony. Nalvas swung the door to with a clang – these were not force-cages, but barred metal doors.

"Enjoy your stay."

And with that he, and the Togruta, were gone. The outer door of the bay swung closed with unnerving finality. Qui-Gon sighed to himself and looked around. Shapes were moving in the darkness; other prisoners who were here.

"Qui-Gon? Is that you?"

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

I should note that Karae Nalvas isn't mine; he's from a campaign in the Wizards of the Coast _Star Wars_ RPG – and there's a glorious twelve-year gap in his history, which fits with my story perfectly. I've taken a lot of liberties with him (like his appearance, because his records really _were_ erased), but he does exist within the universe. And the plans he eluded to, that he needed the money for? Also exist in cannon, though I'm _not_ going to explore them here as they took years. He wanted to create a mobile floating fortress with enough fire-power to take down any cloud-cities that he wanted – and he very nearly succeeded. Crazy – but damn classy.


	7. Chapter 7

I'd like to make a quick note about Jedi formality and titles, since the captives talk a bit in this chapter. A kind reviewer was curious about my use of Obi-Wan calling informally Master Gallia 'Adi' in an earlier chapter; without her title. For me, it comes down to relationships between the respective Jedi who are talking. In that instance, Obi-Wan was talking to Siri, one of his best friends, and they weren't talking about her 'Master' as such, an aloof figure of authority, they were talking about their missing friend. Obi-Wan, Siri, Adi and Qui-Gon have been on missions together and know one another well; so the Padawans would often refer to their Masters without titles when chatting to one another alone – when the Masters are in the room is a different thing, though. Likewise, our two intrepid Padawans will call Kit Fisto 'Master Fisto' to his face…and 'Kit' when he's not around, because they're coming to know him quite well, but not well enough to call him by his given name casually; and there's still the rank divide. Though to be honest I don't think Kit cares.

In the cells are numerous Jedi, all with different relationships. Qui-Gon and Adi will call one another by their given names because they're good friends and formality between them isn't overly important. Bant will call everyone by proper titles because she's a Padawan (and is very polite, even in these circumstances). Qui-Gon calls Eeth Koth and Shaak Ti especially by their honorifics because they're Council Members.

I consider that there also a difference, thought lesser, in calling someone by a title and given name, or title and surname: 'Master Qui-Gon' or 'Master Jinn'. And I think that level of formality might be dropped pretty quickly by the captives – there's more important things to think about, and they're all in this together. Token formality might be kept, but all-and-all out proper can be thrown by the wayside.

So I'm going to try and use the relationships between the Jedi as a basis of how formally they address one another – but it might slip, so I'm sorry if something seems out of place. In the narrative I'm unlikely to keep a formal tone and include every title if I'm describing the actions of the character, because we as readers already know their rank.

So a 'quick' note was not so quick. Apologies! I hope it made sense.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Qui-Gon moved to the front of his cell, trying to see through the near-darkness. The voice was almost instantly recognisable. "Adi?"

The figure that he could just make out in the cess across from his nodded. "Yes, I'm here too. Your arrival numbers us six."

_Six?_ Qui-Gon's heart fell. Six Jedi, caught for slavery? "Who else is here?"

"I am," came another female voice from close by. Moving to the side of his cell, Qui-Gon could see his neighbour was Master Shaak Ti, the white stripes of her lekku glowing faintly. "Welcome to the block, Master Jinn," she whispered sarcastically. "Master Eeth is unconscious due to fighting back, he's in the corner cell by the door across from us. Master Luminara is on my other side; she's currently deep in meditation."

"At least, I am trying to be," came a new voice with a sigh. "But the Force-inhibitors make it a trial."

"An airborne Force-suppressant is pumped through the vents every half hour," Adi explained, the contempt evident in her tone. "We can't escape it, so we have to make do. We tried blocking the vents, and making masks but nothing stopped it."

Qui-Gon's eyes were becoming used to the near-darkness. The cell bay was rectangular in shape, with four cells on either side and three at the end – space for eleven captives. He knew Shaak Ti was to his left, and Luminara to her other side. He trained his sight on the doorway, and looked at each cell from there. Eeth Koth, still unconscious, was in the first cell. Next to him was an empty bay, then Adi. An empty cell, then the first of the three end-cells, which was also empty. In the next one was a familiar figure, who moved from the bed and as close to Qui-Gon as she could get, curling herself up in the front corner of her cell.

"Hello, Master Jinn." Bant's Mon Calamari eyes were sorrowful.

"Bant?" If possible, Qui-Gon's heart dropped further to see the usually optimistic and energetic Jedi student brought so low, trapped in a cage and so out of her element. "Are you alright in this air?"

She nodded. "When the Togruta brings food, he gives me a bowl of saltwater too so I can keep my skin moist." She sighed. "Whoever this guy is, he wants us healthy – which worries me."

"Bant is right," Shaak Ti said softly. "We're given decent food and drink, the beds are narrow but not uncomfortable, and the linen is clean. It's like no capture I've ever endured."

_Nalvas is keeping his prizes in good condition_, Qui-Gon thought. _Like cattle to be sold. The healthier we are, the more he will get for us. _Even the thought made him feel ill.

There was no way to tell how much time was passing. The cells were designed to be physically comfortable, but mentally exhausting. Dim lighting illuminated little, leaving their eyes to strain to make out detail or one another's faces. Their close design allowed for physical closeness and contact with cell neighbours only, but the metal bars were cold and rigid. Oppression was heavy in the prison bay; even more so thanks to the air-borne Force-inhibitor that seeped out of the vents every thirty minutes. The quiet hiss of the gas was the only way to tell even the basic passage of time.

Qui-Gon quickly learnt the routine of their capture. Every morning – or what he could guess was morning, harsh lights suddenly come on, momentarily blinding them from their hours in the dimness. They were then led one by one to a small refresher by the armed Togruta, having been recently exposed to a new dose of Force-inhibitor. If no one had misbehaved in any way, they were all given a decent amount of standard quality food to eat – but it was the only meal in the day; so conserving some of it for later was important. Otherwise, they were left alone in the heavy near-darkness of their cells. At the 'end' of the day the visit to the refresher was repeated. Every moment, the red light of a camera blinked at the from above the doorway, out of anyone's reach.

The captives spoke quietly to one another, discussing everything from escape plans to memories, and sharing stories in an attempt to keep their spirits up. Only a few hours after Qui-Gon's initial imprisonment, Eeth woke from his unconsciousness and gently rebuffed his companion's worries. He assured them he was all right; his race's natural high tolerance to physical pain having considerably helped him – his muscles were merely stiff. Qui-Gon could barely see him, but he watched as the Zabrak moved through basic Jedi warm up exercises and slow, controlled movement sets as he let his body flow from one position to the next.

Qui-Gon guessed he had only been Nalvas' 'guest' a little more than a day when the door to the cell bay opened, and Nalvas strode in, his Togruta assistant following with another captive at blaster-point. She was crying softly as she was pushed into the cell by the door, opposite to Eeth. Nalvas said nothing to any of the, merely ran his hand down her head-tails and made her gasp in disgust before he slammed the barred door shut and sauntered out.

The new arrival tried to stifle her crying as Luminara moved close to her cell wall to encourage her. "Come here, little one. Let us see you."

The Twi'lek who came forward couldn't have been more than twelve. Her skin's blue tinge was just discernable in the low light, as she hastily removed the trace of tears from her face. Luminara sighed loudly enough for it to be heard by all, her disappointment evident. "I had hoped I was mistaken. This is Aayla Secura, the recently accepted Padawan of Jedi Knight Quinlan Vos."

Qui-Gon heard Bant softly curse under her breath as he very nearly did the same. It was one thing for a Knight or Master to be captured – this experience, while unique in its own way, was not new to him or any of the others, he was sure – but for a new Padawan? It was an intense emotional situation, and beyond what many would experience at this age. He cast his mind back to when Obi-Wan had been Aayla's age; and he had been kidnapped and become prisoner aboard a deepsea mining platform in the Great Sea of Bandomeer.

Qui-Gon had been so desperate to find him. They weren't even Master and Apprentice at that point, but the thought of the young boy being in such peril at such a young age, training or no training…Quinlan must feel that way now.

"Is Master Vos here?" he heard Aayla ask, trying to keep her voice steady.

"No, he isn't, Aayla. He appears to have escaped your, and our, fate." Luminara smiled at the young girl. "He will find you."

_As Obi-Wan will find me._ Qui-Gon had no doubt that his apprentice would be looking for him, and looking with a determination to rival the best of hunters. _If he survived the fall_, whispered the back of his mind. Without a clear connection to the Force Qui-Gon still couldn't be sure his apprentice had survived the fight with the bounty hunters – but granted, Obi-Wan was made of strong stuff. They had been through a lot together, and Force-inhibitor or not, Qui-Gon felt he would _know_ if Obi-Wan had become one with the Force.

Qui-Gon cast a glance around the cell bay as Luminara comforted Aayla with encouraging words. With this many Jedi captured the Council _must_ be aware something wasn't right. Someone would be looking for him. For Aayla. For them all.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

The doors of House Salaktori hissed open. Through it strode a bounty hunter of impressive gait and imposing height, dressed in dark clothing that bore the stains and wear marks of travel and fights long past. As he came forward into the light of the corridor, some of the watching hunters recognised his species: a squid-headed Nautolan, the characteristic black eyes seeming to watch everything at once. His head-tails twitched gently.

He strode past his audience, ignoring them completely even as one hand rested on the hilt of a laser whip at his side, ready for any trouble that may rise. He headed down an adjoining corridor and out of sight, letting those watching relax a little as the feeling of intimidation passed.

Once around the corner and concealed in the shadows, Kit let out a sigh of relief and reached for his datapad. He had been sure one of the watching hunters was going to rise and challenge him, but then again so many hunters must walk through those doors it would be hard to tell who was a regular and who was not.

On the screen of his datapad, Kit brought up the floor plans Obi-Wan had downloaded for him, and he quickly found his current position and intended destination: the 'briefing' room. Many, if not all, bounty hunter houses and organisations had these rooms, where a hunter could pick out their next bounty and see which had been completed. It was where all the information on a bounty could be seen: the mark, the client, the bounty amount itself, location, special information…

All he had to do was find it and gain access.

Kit studied the plan once more before hiding the datapad again. The route now fixed in his mind, he set off again, walking slowly and threateningly. He projected an air of arrogance and strength, daring anyone to come and oppose him. He was hoping it would be enough – if it came down to a fight, he would have to fight with the laser-whip, which wasn't a proper one, and his feet and fists.

Taking a left-turn, Kit found himself in a bare corridor with two hunters leaning casually against one of the walls, deep in conversation. They appeared not to notice him as he swaggered by, by just as Kit was beginning to think he had avoided trouble again, one called out to him.

Kit turned. The speaker was a tall humanoid woman, her white-skin seeming to glow in the half-light of the corridor. A tail of auburn hair flowed from atop her otherwise bald head, alongside the antennae of a bio-computer. Kit knew her immediately – Aurra Sing, an ex-Jedi. She had never trained past the rank of Padawan, and at nine was captured by pirates and raised in their ways. Now a ruthless killer, it was well known that Aurra Sing was one of the top Jedi hunters.

Everything he knew about Aurra – her history, her abilities, the equipment she was carrying at the moment and the hand that was sitting on her hip near her blaster flashed through his mind in seconds. As a Force-sensitive, it was possible that Aurra would be the one to see through his disguise. Although Kit knew he had much more training and Force-control than she did, it was still a possibility.

"Haven't seen you before, Nautolan."

Kit's lip curled. "Then you haven't looked hard enough."

Aurra's eyes narrowed slightly at Kit's flippant reply. "More like you're beneath my notice." She turned back to the hunter she was talking to, but Kit felt her eyes on his back as he stalked away and around the corner.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Far above Kit in his bounty hunter disguise, Obi-Wan checked the datapad he held as Siri carefully defused another sensor. The two of them were huddled in an air duct, a few rooms in from the outside vent they had carefully opened and entered through. It had been rigged with explosives, but Siri had seen to them and replaced the grating behind them so nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. Now she was working on another security measure House Salaktori had in place – movement sensors – while Obi-Wan checked the map.

"Looks like we're heading in the right direction. Next junction, we go left."

"Left," Siri repeated as she concentrated on the sensor wiring. A moment later the sensor went dark, and she grinned. "There. We can move on now."

Together the two Jedi Padawans continued their slow and careful journey. Every now and then they would pass over a grate that looked into a room, and through them saw many sights – corridors, dormitories with all manner of creatures sleeping their way through the day, numerous common rooms where gambling was common and at least one room filled with stimulant machines. They heard snatches of arguments and conversations about good bounties, even the distant and off-key song of a drunken being.

"When do you think they'll stop building air ducts people can crawl through?" Siri whispered casually from behind Obi-Wan.

"No idea, but right now I'm not complaining."

They continued on, Obi-Wan crawling one-handed so he could hold his datapad before him to navigate. "We should be nearly there."

Obi-Wan stopped once more to let Siri disable another sensor. As he waited for her to finish her work, he glanced down a nearby vent and into the corridor beyond. He could hear, but only partially see, three bounty hunters talking together in hushed tones.

"Did you _see_ the price on that bill?"

One snorted. "Almost makes it worth it to go after a Jedi."

_Jedi_. Obi-Wan tapped Siri on the shoulder and nodded at the grate. She paused in her delicate task and cocked her head to listen.

"Why does he want 'em alive, though, eh? Makes no sense. Surely the best Jedi is a dead Jedi?"

One of the hunters shifted his weight, the stiff leather of his coat creaking slightly. "Yeah, but for that price? I'd let him do whatever he wants to 'em. Could buy me a lot of spice _and_ a nice ship, that much."

"I heard from a mate of mine that the guy's a Togruta," one said conspiratorially.

"What's that got to do with anything?"

There was a pause. "Aren't they into weird stuff?"

"Oh, don't you start with that 'all aliens are weird' stuff again…"

The voices faded away as the three hunters walked further down the corridor. Obi-Wan looked at Siri, who rolled her eyes. She returned her focus to the task at hand, fiddling with the wiring of the sensor until its blinking light became dark. Around one more corner they found the grating that looked down into the room they had been looking for.

It was a wide room, bigger than most they had seen in the building. It was lit by many screens around a larger, blank screen, their ethereal blue glow giving the floor and walls an unnatural colour. Each screen had information for a different bounty on it – Obi-Wan could see one for a prominent Bith merchant on Corellia; there was a sister who wanted her brother killed for inheritance purposes; and the screen next to that proudly displayed a listing for an Ithorian who had 'wronged' the client.

As Obi-Wan searched for the right listing, the door hissed open and in strode two hunters – a human woman in Mandolorian armour, her helmet under one arm, and a well-muscled Cathar. They walked up to the bank of screens and tapped the keyboard. One of the listings on the screens changed colour, and it was enlarged on the main screen, which flickered into life with the information.

"See? They weren't lying," the Mandolorian said, as Obi-Wan and Siri glanced at one another, eyes wide.

The bounty was simple: it asked for any Jedi, of any age and rank, to be caught and bought to the contact. A comlink number was given below, along with the name _Savlan_. The instructions were that any 'damage' to the 'captive' would result in deductions from the payment, and that Force-inhibiting drugs could be procured from the quartermaster of House Salaktori for those who considered themselves in need of their help. The lightsabers of any captive were part of the deal too.

Beneath the information was the payment price of the bounty. Obi-Wan didn't think he'd seen that many zeroes since dealing with a Royal Treasury in a mission years before. Whoever wanted these Jedi wanted them _a lot_.

The door slid open again as the two hunters discussed the price in low voices. Obi-Wan didn't need to recognise the head-tails before the Force nudged him gently. Kit's challenging swagger, so unlike his normal gait, was convincing enough that the two hunters only gave him a brief glance before hurrying out of the room and leaving him alone.

The Nautolan studied the screen carefully, making notes on his datapad. Obi-Wan felt the Force swirl and twist around him and fill the room – Kit was searching for any hidden information the listing might hold, anything that could help them further. After a few moments of contemplation, he slipped the datapad back into his belt and put his façade back in place.

Kit looked up at the vent, smoothed his head-tails back from his face, winked, and left the room leisurely.

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Reviews appreciated


	8. Chapter 8

Promise I haven't forgotten you guys. Life just got in the way. All of a sudden I was doing all the things: pretending to be a trauma victim for a search and rescue training exercise (I was made up to look like I'd run through a glass door, with fake glass in my injuries and everything); getting cast in a community musical when one of the principal roles had to drop out (it's awesome but I have much to remember; and rehearsals are getting longer); getting job interviews and putting in more applications; losing motivation for a while; taking part in a medieval feast (complete with silly games, far too much alcohol and a bonfire afterwards); and getting ready for a ball that's later this week (I _found the dress_. It's dark purple, halter-neck, and fits me perfectly). So most of that was pretty great for me, but it did mean you guys missed out – and for that, I'm very, very sorry.

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Obi-Wan tapped his fingers idly on the desk as the dataport before him hummed and processed another query. Beside him, Siri rested her chin in her hand as her eyes wearily scanned page after page of criminal records; searching for anything relevant. The quietness of the Jedi Archives, drastically different to the busy Couruscanti sky-lanes that were on the other side of the Temple's walls.

They had returned to the Temple, along with Kit, to provide a progress report to the Council and utilise the new leads they had picked up. The Jedi Temple housed some of the best analysis droids in the galaxy, and the biggest collection of information in one place. It also helped that the Archives were almost constantly being updated – and that on Coruscant many of the Jedi had their own ways of hearing about underworld goings on.

Kit was currently in a meeting with the Council – and after assuring that he could handle them on his own, the two Senior Padawans had gratefully set off to the Archives to begin compiling information on their lead and, with any hope, begin to track his movements. So far, it wasn't going as quickly as either of them had hoped – the name of the contact on the contract, which was their starting point, seemed to be more common than it might have been. 'Savlan' – and the similar forms of 'Sav Lan' 'S Alvan' and 'Sa-vlan' – produced a large amount of records, articles and holonet connections.

It was easiest to eliminate those it was highly unlikely to be by cross-referencing the results of the initial search with what was colloquially known as the 'underworld' database – which not only left a still-sizeable list, but was an expansive databank on its own. It wasn't until Siri connected the name to information on current bounties that the list started to dwindle, and after a while she exclaimed softly in triumph.

"This looks like our guy. Male Togruta, goes by the alias Savlan, has been connected to numerous dealings in the past few years – all of a somewhat underhand nature. Big monetary agreements, or just a name as part of a deal."

Obi-Wan frowned as he read the information. "Think he's a frontman?"

"I expect so," said Kit, who had softly approached. "The Council is pleased with our progress. And you two have done well to track him on record – but now, I think, it is time to look for information that is not usually written." He swung his Jedi cloak over his shoulders. "I am stepping out to get some not-so-fresh air. And perhaps a drink. I will contact you later – and we can discuss what we know so far." With a wink, Kit turned on his heel and left, drawing his hood over his face.

Both Obi-Wan and Siri knew what Kit was implying. He was evidently on his way to meet with a contact, probably in some lower level bar or gloomy club. Many Jedi found information through those who knew having a Jedi on their side, or being in the good books of one, was a fair way to stay alive. Obi-Wan had accompanied Qui-Gon many times on such errands, usually ending up in a seedy dive bar of some description where credits for drinks worked better than mind-tricks.

Siri switched off her datapad and glanced across at him. "Any ideas on where we can go? Adi's contacts aren't easy to find here."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I do indeed. You hungry?"

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Coco Town was bustling as usual. The late morning shoppers and early lunch-break-takers were out in full force today, Obi-Wan thought as he and Siri made their way from the transport down the street towards a familiar diner. The door chimed happily as they made their way through and it wasn't long before the resident droid waitress, affectionately referred to as Flo, had them seated in a booth.

"Obi-Wan, what is this place?" asked Siri as she glanced around the crowded room. Numerous species and patrons filled the booths along the walls and the stools at the bar, forming a noisy and colourful picture before them. Snatches of various languages were lost among laughter and intriguing smells that wafted through the air.

Before Obi-Wan could answer, a Besalisk suddenly appeared at their table. He was grinning widely as all four of his arms spread out in greeting. "Obi-Wan! Good to see ya, buddy. Say, that don't look like Qui-Gon with ya!" he added, tipping a wink to Siri, who couldn't help but grin in return.

"Dex Jettster, meet Siri Tachi - Senior Padawan and my very good friend. We came to have some lunch. And to _catch up_." Obi-Wan's gentle emphasis on the last words made Dex's smile flicker, before it came back bigger than ever. He gave a sly wink.

"Sure, sure. Be right with ya."

He gave Siri another wink and vanished back into the kitchen. Siri raised an eyebrow at the highly amused expression on Obi-Wan's face. "That's your informant?" she asked in a low voice.

"Trust me. Dex is an old friend – I met him through Qui-Gon. And he's got his finger on the pulse of the planet; even based here in Coco Town he knows what's going on down in the lower levels.If there are rumours out there about Savlan, he'll have heard something."

Siri nodded, casting her eyes around Dex's motley crew of patrons. "It's certainly got _character_."

"Character's the best thing to have!" Dex roared happily, dropping a few platters onto the table and squeezing in next to Obi-Wan. "Protato wedges, on the house. Your favourite, right, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan let out a delighted exclamation as Siri cautiously tried the protato wedges. They were crispy, salted and dripping in oil – and delicious. Siri gladly helped herself to more as Obi-Wan lightly and casually filled Dex in on the contact they wanted information about, and what little they knew of his description. Siri watched as Dex started nodding before Obi-Wan had even finished speaking.

"Savlan? Yeah," Dex elongated the word thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's a name I know. Never seen the guy myself, but know he's a Togruta. His name comes up every now and then. Been quietly busy for the last few years now."

"Have you heard anything recently?" Siri asked.

Dex's brow furrowed. "Once or twice. Recently heard him connected to an auction of some sort. Under the radar." Dex's usually open face took on a contemptuous expression. "Heard the word 'cattle' mentioned. Usually means slaves."

Obi-Wan felt the blood drain from his face. "An auction?"

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"That's what I said, love." Nadia Dargan's lithe fingers played around the edge of her half-empty glass. "It's all the buzz down here, if you know who to talk to."

Kit nodded to himself, turning the idea over in his mind. "An auction," he repeated quietly. The idea was horrible – but it did make sense. There were many wealthy scumbags in the universe who would pay immense amounts to be able to claim they had a Jedi slave.

Nadia was watching him closely. "You know what's up for sale, don't you? That info's been kept close to the ground. Would be worth a lot to me…" she trailed off imploringly.

"I don't know," Kit replied, keeping his face unreadable. "I only have suspicions. And suspicions could get you killed, Nadia."

Nadia's head-tails twitched as she threw back a swallow of her drink. "Touché."

"What else do you know?" Kit prompted her gently. Nadia only grinned at him and tapped her now empty glass with one elegant fingernail. Kit sighed to himself and signalled a nearby waitress, who arrived with another tall glass of the ruby alcohol Nadia favoured so much. It was fairly expensive, but the information was always worth it. Nadia took an appreciative mouthful and fixed Kit with a shining stare.

"This auction's no normal black market deal of whoever can pay highest. Its location isn't known; but you can guess it's not within the Republic. The entrance list is elite – that much has been made clear. Those of a more uncouth disposition who pushed too hard were … dealt with. As a warning."

Kit leaned forward over the table. "Elite?"

"Like…distinguished without morals." Nadia rolled her eyes. "Only way in, so say the rumours, is to be specifically invited."

"Invited by whom?"

Kit's only answer was a smile, and the tap of a fingernail on the top of the table. He sighed softly and pulled a high-credit chip from the inside of his robe. With a click, he placed it on the table-top beside his own vessel, shielding it from the rest of the room. Nadia gave the barest shake of her head – _not enough_. Kit placed another chip alongside the first. Nadia tapped the table's surface again. Kit fixed her with a stare.

"It's worth it," the Twi'lek replied quietly. "Possibly worth more than my life."

Kit knew Nadia wasn't one to lie. He had known her for many years now, and could count on one hand the amount of times her information had not been worth the price. If she was asking – needing – such a high price for this, it was likely it was the sort of information he desperately needed to see his fellow Jedi found and released. Two more credit chips found their way from his robe to the table. Kit knew he was lucky the bar was as dark as it was, as carrying around this much currency would almost certainly make him a target, Jedi or not.

Nadia nodded and carefully reached across the table. With a wink she slipped the credit chips down her sleeve before tapping Kit on the chest flirtatiously. Any one watching would only have seen one drunk alien propositioning another, and paid it no heed. After another long drink of her ruby liquid, she sighed and leaned close to Kit.

"The only way to get onto the list is to win favour with the auctioneer. Guy by the name of – and listen up, I'm only saying it once – _Fesvk Wefos_. He's wealthy and without morals of any kind, and he's how you get in. Been floating around the underworld for a while, never connected to anything enough to get caught for it. He's almost like a ghost."

Kit nodded. This was exactly what he needed.

"Don't know how you're meant to impress him enough; you'll have to work that out on your own. Though, the resort planet of Vaynai is a nice place to visit, this time of year" She fixed him with a level stare. "In the next five standard days, if you get my drift."

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Kit had almost forgotten it was in fact still daylight outside the darkness of the bar. Nadia had left (with her large amount of credits) alongside him, and with a wave and a wink had vanished into the half-light of Coruscant's lower levels, head tails twitching and a spring in her step. Kit smiled as he watched her go; momentarily wishing her well – the credits he had given her were enough to make her a mark for the greedy and desperate, but Nadia had proved in the past that she could take care of herself.

On the journey back to the Jedi Temple, Kit turned the name over in his mind. _Fesvk Wefos_. It was familiar to him in some way – not someone he had ever had dealings with or pursued, but perhaps a name connected to something he had once dealt with, read on a file as an aside. Pulling out his comlink he contacted Obi-Wan, and asked the two Padawans to meet him in the Archives immediately.

They were there before him, and already working at a private dataport to one side of the main hall. As he approached, Siri turned towards him, her usually fiery eyes full of worry. "Master Fisto; it's an auction," she said in a low voice.

The Nautolan nodded and laid a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "I know; my contact told me as much – and more. Good work on discovering it for yourself; and immediately understanding what that means."

"We have to get them out," Obi-Wan sighed as he turned towards them, inclining his head respectfully to Kit. "Jedi slaves…who would be so cruel? Master Fisto; did you say your contact gave your more information?"

"Indeed!" Kit fluidly pulled out a chair, swung himself into it, and leaned forward. "It's a high-profile event – only those invited have access. And the only way to get invited is to impress the auctioneer, Fesvk Wefos. He will be on Vaynai in a few day's time."

Obi-Wan had turned back to the screen before him and tapped in the name, cross referencing it against a merchant registry and the 'underworld' database. The image that came up was of a fairly young human man, with dark blonde hair and sharp cheekbones. He was smiling, at a party of some kind, but the eyes were deep and deadly. This was no mere merchant to be toyed with.

Siri shook her head. "I don't like him. There's something not right about him. Master Fisto?"

When he didn't reply, both Padawan's turned to him. Kit had an odd look on his face as he stared at the image, his pupil-less black eyes thoughtful. After a moment of silence, he spoke. "I know this man…this situation has become much more complicated."

"Master Fisto?" asked Obi-Wan. He looked back at the image. Aside from an arrogance that reminded him of Xanatos, now thankfully deceased, the man before him was a stranger, he was sure of it.

Kit's next words were reserved and measured. "This man is a past pupil of the Temple. A fallen Jedi, who embraced the Dark Side and then vanished. His records have been erased, but I knew him once as a young man, by the name of Karae Nalvas."

"Nalvas?" said Siri questioningly, before she suddenly sighed in resignation. "Nalvas is 'Savlan' backwards. It's a taunt."

Obi-Wan groaned quietly. "It is too. Think the Togruta is a false identity? Or maybe a manservant of some kind, to be the public face of whatever plans Nalvas has?"

"More likely to be the second," Kit mused.

Siri tilted her head to one side in thought. "Then why is he the auctioneer?"

"Arrogance, it is." Said a new voice.

All three Jedi bowed to the diminutive Jedi High Master who had silently come upon them. Yoda dismissed their formalities with a wave of his walking stick, leaning heavily on it as he carefully scrutinised the three before him. "Found out the leads you need, you have. A plan you need. Wait, this situation cannot."

"Master Yoda is right. We still don't know when the auction," Obi-Wan shuddered internally to use the word, "will take place. It could be mere days away."

Yoda softly tapped his stick on the polished floor of the Archive hall. "Impress Nalvas, one of you must."

"Yes, Master. But even if we did get into the auction, how could we get the captive Jedi out? Security for something like this – as horrifying as it is – is going to be intense," Siri said. "Maybe even impassable; even for a Jedi."

"We have to know more." Kit stroked his chin thoughtfully. "What information about this – _event_ – that can be gathered from the outside has run thin."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "And it's not like we can walk in the front door, either, with Nalvas being Force-sensitive."

"Then we must get creative." Kit's black eyes were shining as he grinned. "And perhaps just a little _theatrical_."

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Sorry it wasn't very action-packed. All very important stuff, but not much with the thrill and tension, sorry. But now, things can get interesting…

Reviews loved.


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